


The Pumpkin Latte Series

by unicornwarrior



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Asking Alexandria makes a random appearance, F/M, I refuse to spoil the whole story in the tags, J-Dog is adorable, J3T is terrifying, J3T/Charlie only if you squint real hard, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornwarrior/pseuds/unicornwarrior
Summary: Okay, listen. I liked my brother’s friends. I really did. Sure, Jordon kind of came off as a chauvinistic pig at times, and Dylan seemed like he was trying way too hard to seem stupider than he actually was, but all in all, they were good people. It was just that with them, I always felt like such a boring goodie-two-shoes that I’d sort of quit trying to wedge my way into their circle.+++Christina Ragan is basically the opposite of her twin brother: sweet, kind, a good student. At least, she was, until shit went down. This is the story of how she meets someone, falls in love, and falls straight out of love. It's also the story of another someone who can't stop drinking disgusting Pumpkin Spice Latte. The question is, is there a happy ending on the horizon for her...and for not-disgusting coffee?
Relationships: Aron Erlichman | Deuce/Original Female Character(s), Daniel Murillo | Danny/Original Character(s), George Ragan | Johnny 3 Tears/Jordon Terrell | Charlie Scene
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Part One: Chapter One: I Know That We Have Never Really Met Before

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! 
> 
> well, this is a surprise. while sifting through some old fanfiction that I wrote years ago, I stumbled upon this gem: the pumpkin latte series, a story that I never posted anywhere. admittedly, I'm glad I didn't, because holy shit, the original is BAD. however, I do always think it's quite a fun exercise to rewrite old stories that suck pretty hard and make them...not suck as much. 
> 
> and since I'm currently in self-isolation (hello hi COVID-19, no not today aatan), I've decided to repost this gem. completely reworked, remastered and redone, all five (!) parts (which I'm not going to split into different stories, I don't know why, I just hate doing that). I really hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> other than that, please stay safe and healthy! I hope you're all okay and washing your hands really well. watch out for yourself and for the people around you. 
> 
> stay safe, happy & healthy  
> love,  
> M
> 
> title credit: dead bite, hu

“It’s just a sleepover, Chrissy,” said George, looking at me with big, stupid puppy dog eyes. “Nothing too drastic, just a couple of guys having pizza and watching movies.” 

I raised an incredulous eyebrow at my brother, letting my gaze skirt pointedly over the ragtag group of his friends assembled behind his bulky frame. “Right,” I said. “Like the last time you had ‘just a sleepover’ and pulverized not one, not two, but _three_ separate pieces of furniture in the living room. No offence, bro, but I don’t really want to deal with dad’s screaming again.” 

“Chrissy,” said George, and I had to resist the temptation to flick him on the nose. No one called me ‘Chrissy’ anymore, I’d made damn sure of that, but the memo somehow still hadn’t reached my idiot brother. He raised one thick arm to scratch the back of his neck. “I promise that nothing bad will happen. We’re just gonna eat and watch Silent Hill 3. No biggie.” 

I released a long-suffering sigh. My brother and his friends were notorious for never just sticking to one pizza and one film; they usually had to supplement their diet _herbally_ , if you catch my drift. Not only that, but one of them, a rough-looking 16-year-old dude named Jorel Decker, who had an illegal tattoo on his upper arm that he proudly showed everyone within 0.3 seconds of meeting them, had a fake ID so good that he actually managed to obtain beer. And that, my friends, was usually a guaranteed recipe for disaster. 

“Come on, Chrissy,” said Jordon Terrell, George’s obnoxious right-hand man, “I promise you we won’t be any trouble at all!” I rolled my eyes at him. Jordon Terrell was probably the least reliable out of their little quintet, and the most prone to doing stupid shit as well. I wouldn’t believe a word he said even if he swore an oath on the bible beforehand. 

“Alright, whatever. I’m going to my room, if something happens then it’s on your head,” I told George with a shrug and turned around. 

“You can stay, though,” suggested a nasal voice. I whirled back around and looked at Aron, a lanky and skinny guy who’d be graduating our high school this summer. He had a nice smile, and I admittedly didn’t mind it when he directed it (or his attention, for that matter) at me. Still, George’s friends were off-limits to me, and sitting awkwardly with them and watching a horror film while feeling like an alien life form wasn’t exactly my idea of a fun night. So I returned Aron’s smile tentatively but apologetically. 

“Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t wanna impose. I have a bunch of schoolwork to do anyway,” I said, and gave a small, awkward wave. 

“Schoolwork? Ain’t tomorrow the first day of school?” Dylan Alvarez, the biggest stoner in the western hemisphere, pointed out. His jeans hung so low on his waist that I lived in constant fear of them slipping off, probably leaving him in an embarrassing pair of tighty whities that his mother had picked up for him at Target. 

“Yeah,” I deadpanned, “Some people prepare for their new school years when they switch schools. That’s how they graduate without just barely skating by.” With which pronouncement I said goodbye quickly, before Dylan could figure out that I’d kind of insulted him, and retreated to my room. 

Behind my back, I heard George’s friends make stupid comments to Aron, saying something about him being ‘whipped’ or some shit. I swear, teenaged boys are the most immature shitheads on the whole planet. 

Still, Aron admittedly had piqued my interest. He was a strange guy, kind of scrawny, with eyes that were really oddly close together and his voice was a little annoying at times, but that didn’t change the fact that sometimes, embarrassingly, I imagined what it would be like to kiss him. Of course, I’d never tell George, or Aron, for that matter, anything about these strange budding feelings, but I knew that somewhere, tucked away in the depth of my mind, I couldn’t help wondering if the two of us would make a good couple. 

‘Come on, Chris,’ I told myself, ‘Don’t be childish.’

Okay, listen. I liked my brother’s friends. I really did. Sure, Jordon kind of came off as a chauvinistic pig at times, and Dylan seemed like he was trying way too hard to seem stupider than he actually was, but all in all, they were good people. It was just that with them, I always felt like such a boring goodie-two-shoes that I’d sort of quit trying to wedge my way into their circle. George always said that his friends were my friends, too, but since I’d only ever seen them when they came to our house to do illegal things when our parents were gone, there hadn’t really been much bonding time.   
But that was all going to change now, wasn’t it? I was moving schools. The old one had just sort of been…bad for me, and now our parents had made the executive decision to make me go to the same high school as my twin brother. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t really a bad thing – it was just a little difficult to imagine myself fitting in with his crowds, because that sure as hell was going to be my only choice. God knows I wasn’t particularly great at making friends myself. 

Anyways, I’d see how things would go tomorrow. 

It was the start of my junior year – and if I had known what I was in for, I probably would’ve dropped out of high school.


	2. Part One: Chapter Two: Been to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! 
> 
> so, a little bit more about this story: the pumpkin latte series is sth that I, as I mentioned in the last A/N, wrote when I was probably around fourteen or so and first discovered hu (and lemme tell you, it was a hilariously terrible story when I first wrote it). now, I remodelled it, and made some very fun observations: 1) I am not very good at writing smut, which you will come to realise in the later chapters (this story is my first attempt at writing ~sexy stuff, please don't laugh at me) and b) I always write the same main character (spunky gal who takes no sHIT FROM NO ONE). 
> 
> chrissy, the main character here, is also very much a spunky gal who takes no shit from no one™ but I at least TRIED to jazz it up a little, which you'll also find out in the later chapters. well, I hope you read on haha. I don't wanna say more about the story, though, because I really hate it when people just show their entire hand three seconds into the game. rest assured, though, there will be a happy ending at the end of part 6 (at first, there were only 5 parts but I decided to expand it to fit more ~sexy scenes in, oopsies). 
> 
> on a more serious note, I hope you're all doing fine in these difficult quarantine times. as always, I want to thank you for reading and taking the time to comment and everything, it really means a lot. please stay safe, alright? take care of those you love, especially the elderly. we can only do this if we work together. and look at it this way: in my country, there's a full lockdown until at least the 13th of april, so I will have PLENTY of time to write. 
> 
> stay safe, happy & healthy  
> love,  
> M
> 
> title credit: been to hell, hu

As different as my twin brother and I were, there was one single characteristic that the two of us had always and probably would always have in common: We were decidedly _not_ early risers. Every time that my alarm clock rang before ten AM, I was almost completely sure that the day to follow was going to suck. I hated waking up early, and I especially hated taking the bus. I’d been able to walk to my old school, and now here I was, sitting around in a box on wheels filled with smelly, hormonal and loud teenagers, at seven in the morning, with my grumpy-ass brother.

Ugh. 

“George,” I said miserably. 

“What?” he snapped at me. There were bags under his eyes the size of Texas, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was hung over. In the morning, his friends had all piled into Jordon’s car and left, but George, being the kind idiot that he was, had forsworn the chance for comfort and elected to ride the bus with me, because it was my first day and all. 

“What’s your first period after the assembly?” I asked. 

“I don’t give a shit,” he retorted, and went back to moodily staring out of the window. 

Well, that had gone well. When we arrived at the school – a horribly cheerful building with brightly painted walls and green lettering above the front door (“South West High”, as the school situated in the South West of the Los Angeles suburbs had been so aptly named) – George wordlessly led me to the gym, where basically all of the students were already chattering animatedly, chucking pieces of paper across the bleachers, laughing loudly. All in all, they were doing things that made me even angrier at this ungodly hour. 

We found George’s crew somewhere in the back, with all four of them looking a little worse for wear. Aron shot me a shy smile that made something in my chest flutter a little bit, and I bit my lip and looked down, blushing. I heard a snicker from Jordon’s direction, but decided not to pay him any mind. 

The assembly was pretty standard, just a middle-aged principal reading off a few rules, welcoming the students to another (hopefully) successful year and finally releasing us to attend our very first classes of the term. George, sadly, shared only his lunch period and a single music class with me, nothing else. However, I also doubted that I’d be met with many of his friends, as (and I know this sounds bad, but well) they probably weren’t going to take all that many AP classes, what with their lackluster attitude towards education and all. 

I was, however, pleasantly surprised when I discovered that Aron was in my first period English class. He sat down at the desk next to mine, as though it was completely self-explanatory that his friendship with my twin extended to me. I was immensely grateful for his presence, though, when I recognized the person sitting in front of me. 

What you must know about my past schooling is that I had gone to junior high with George and these guys. It had been fine, honestly, I’d liked junior high okay. But let’s just say that things had deteriorated a little bit during 8th grade, and our parents had decided to send me to an all-girls private high school. That evidently hadn’t worked out too well, either, as I was now here, at South West High, where things are named after their location. 

Sitting in front of me, though, was none other than Chelsea Stirling. The two of us had gone to junior high together, we’d even been friends at some point, but now, I was praying to every deity that I could think of that she wouldn’t remember me. Or recognize me. Maybe the new haircut I’d gotten over the summer and the new glasses would help. 

Yet I found out, rather soon and rather abruptly, that she remembered extremely clearly who I was, and turned her hawk-like eyes on me. 

“If it isn’t the vampire girl herself,” she said with a mean smile. “What a surprise. Did they kick you out of the fancy people school?” I stiffened up, seeing Aron throw me a questioning sidelong gaze. 

“Hi, Chelsea. It’s nice to see you, too.” I left it at that, and she seemed to grow tired of glaring at me pretty soon and turned back to look at the teacher. 

“You know –,” started Aron, but I cut him off hastily. 

“Don’t mention it. It’s fine. Do me a favor, though?” He nodded. “Please don’t tell my brother.” I winced at how pathetic I sounded, but I supposed that this was the new me. I just needed to get through this year and the next year alive, and then I’d be off to college and doing things that actually made me happy. That was my only silver lining at this point. 

Aron smiled shyly at me. “I promise,” he said. “But don’t let anyone get you down. I think vampires are kinda cool.” 

I laughed at that, but our conversation was interrupted by the teacher clearing his throat, casting a disapproving glance at Aron and me.

“I understand that you’re new to this school, Ms. Ragan,” he said tightly. “I hope you won’t be as much trouble as your brother.” That was the only thing he said – luckily, he didn’t make me introduce myself or something like that, and so the class went on without a hitch. 

The teacher, Mr. Beckett, was a boring twenty-something-year-old hipster, but he did know his way around literature. As English was the college major I intended to choose, I paid close attention. Yet I didn’t miss that sometimes, when I glanced to my right, Aron was looking right at me, almost as though he was studying me. I couldn’t help the hot flush creeping up my face. 

This guy – he was going to be my downfall, I was sure of it.

+++

After the English class, I sat through 50 minutes of the most boring history lecture that anyone could possibly imagine, held by a withered woman who looked like her voice was putting her face to sleep. Throughout the whole lesson, I couldn’t rid myself of the image of Aron looking at me, no, _staring_ at me, while I was trying to follow Mr. Beckett’s outline for subjects covered in the coming semester. He was just…kind of an intense guy, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kind of like it. 

Somehow, his quiet yet confident demeanor appealed to me infinitely. At the same time, he had such a nice smile, and it didn’t hurt that he was the first guy to ever show any interest in me. Surely, though, it was too good to be true and he’d drop his strange infatuation rather soon. Probably. 

During my math class, I unsurprisingly saw none of George’s friends, but in science, a quite smug-looking Jorel Decker plopped down in the seat next to mine. 

“Well, Chrissy, how’s the very first day going?” he asked. 

I smiled awkwardly. “Okay, I guess?” I replied. In the row behind me, I could hear Chelsea Stirling snickering. 

“Watch out, Decker. If you’re seen with her too much, even your good looks won’t save you,” she said with a nasty smile. I rolled my eyes, ready to turn back around and let it go, but Jorel was, evidently, much more belligerent. 

“Oh well, Sterling, if you think that I’m good-looking I’ll have to overthink my image. But I guess you have low standards if you have to look in the mirror every single day, huh?”

Chelsea’s jaw set angrily, and I could see she was gearing up for a reply, but Jorel had more in store for her. “You and Marsh, that little twat, you probably have to both wear paper bags over your faces when you’re doing it, just so that neither of you accidentally vomits.” 

I’ll admit that I did like it, for a second, when Chelsea’s anger was directed elsewhere and I wasn’t getting the brunt of it, but Jorel’s way of dealing with this was kind of pushy, kind of aggressive and way too bully-ish for my liking. I didn’t say anything, though, just grateful that I shared my other class with Aron, who adopted a much less awful attitude towards others. 

Chelsea turned away with an ugly sneer, and I found myself eyeing Jorel from the side. While, surely, he was a very good-looking guy, conventionally attractive were it not for the bunches of (illegal) tattoos and the ugly plugs stretching his ears, but he was a little too wild for my liking. The person that would be able to put up with his cantankerous, aggressive personality had yet to be invented. 

“Listen,” I said, understanding that I’d have to take a slightly less kind approach with him than with Aron. “Don’t say a word to George. I don’t want him going full ballistic again. Just keep this to yourself, alright dude?” 

He raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless, and I leaned back in my chair, relieved.

+++

School lunch, I was sure, was some sort of torture device invented by sadistic teachers at some point during the Renaissance. There was no other explanation for the wildlife excursion that was this break. 

There were so many people in the room that I could hardly breathe, and awful Chelsea Stirling was giving me the stinkeye from across her table, and I really just kind of wanted to hide in a toilet stall with my brown paper bag lunch. The problem was that I didn’t have a brown paper bag lunch, because my mom never packed me anything, because she was on a business trip in India. And another problem was that I was so stupidly hungry, having not eaten anything since yesterday noon (what an idiot I’d been to turn down the offer of _pizza_ of all things). So, I had to get in line and accept   
some of the brown sludge they were trying to pass off as mashed potatoes but declined the offer of grey-looking and ill-smelling meatloaf. There was one of those ridiculously childish milk cartons on my tray, and a rather questionable-looking plastic container filled with chocolate pudding. At least I thought that was what it was. 

“How’s your first day?” asked my brother when I sat down next to him. I unenthusiastically picked up my fork and started picking up lumpy bits of mashed potatoes and shoveling them into my mouth. If I ate really quickly, I wouldn’t taste how disgusting it was. 

At my old school, they had amazing lunches. Locally sources veggies, healthy salads, meatless Mondays…I snapped out of it, telling myself that crying after my old school was ridiculous and childish. I couldn’t go back anyway; there was no point in lamenting a fate that was lost. 

“Fine, I guess,” I said, making sure not to sound too bummed. George had this weird ability to pick up on my moods like no one else really could, and it made me queasy to think of the tank he had become in junior high when he’d found out about…things. 

“Fine?” parroted my brother. He sounded unconvinced. 

“Fine,” I repeated. Jorel gave me a strange look from the side, and Aron smiled in a way that was so sweet, it almost gave me diabetes. My heart incited a riot in my chest. 

For heaven’s sake, was I really developing a ridiculous little crush on my brother’s friend? If my brother caught wind of that, I’d be in for a world of hurt. 

“I saw that Chelsea Sterling is in almost all of your classes,” he said. A pregnant pause followed. 

“Yeah,” I said, rather proud of how my voice hardly cracked when I said the simple word, “But she didn’t recognize me. It’s all fine, Georgy Porgy, don’t micromanage my life.” 

He frowned, still not entirely convinced, but, to my great relief, stopped pushing his nose into my business and continued the conversation he was having with Jordon about some band that they had both started listening to. They were comparing the impressions of the latest album, leaving me to focus on the gunk on my plate.

“It’s inedible, right?” said Aron. I nodded in agreement. Seconds later, a pale, narrow hand reached over the table and a triangular sandwich landed on the side of my plate, filled with some type of cheese and ham. I smiled gratefully at Aron, who ducked his head, focusing on the other half of his lunch. 

Jorel watched the exchange with mild interest, as though he was seeing a nature documentary on the Discovery Channel. 

I didn’t say anything, but I knew that Aron had caught my message. The sandwich was delicious. Jorel cleared his throat.

“So apparently, Misty is throwing a party on Friday,” said Jorel. “She told me to invite you all.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Misty?” There was some strange knee-jerk reaction to assume that Misty was a bit of a bitch, but I decided to vote against mindless misogyny and looked expectantly at Jorel. 

“She’s cool. Lives down the street from Jordon and Dylan. Jordon’s known her forever. She’s real popular and shit, but that’s just ‘cause she’s real nice to everyone.” 

I nodded absentmindedly, taking another bite of the sandwich. 

“I’m in,” said Jordon, hopefully referring to the party. 

“Me, too,” piped Dylan, who seemed to only have woken up now. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and I had no doubt in my mind that he was as baked as a Thanksgiving pie. Jesus, the guy was, what, fifteen? George nodded, and Aron directed his friendly gaze at me. 

“Chris, are you coming, too?” 

I heard a sharp intake of breath to my right. 

“She most certainly, absolutely, one hundred percent is _not_ ,” said George, “Sorry Chrissy, but that’s not really your scene.” 

I clenched my jaw, turning rather slowly to look my brother in the eyes. “George,” I said, “Don’t patronize me, patriarch isn’t a good look on you.” 

He glared back, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Need I remind you –“

“No,” I said quickly, staring very pointedly at my sandwich. “You need not remind me.” I took another bite, but somehow, swallowing it seemed out of the picture. With every time I chewed, my mouth seemed to grow fuller and drier until I choked down the bite violently. “Let’s talk about this elsewhere.” 

George’s friends exchanged meaningful glances, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter at that. This wasn’t George’s story to tell, and he didn’t have the right to talk to his friends about me. I was glad to see, though, that he was following my request and had launched himself into yet another discussion about the _mastering_ and the _production_ and whatever else there was to gush about in terms of music. The guys had all focused back on their own little discussions – only Aron had directed his sharp gaze toward me, watching me eat. There was a silent question in his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ they said. 

I nodded almost imperceptibly, but he got it. 

I had never felt so connected to anyone before.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three: I Am a Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! 
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long for me to post - it's been a busy few days, I've had a lot of uni stuff to do because distance learning is a BITCH. ugh. 
> 
> anyways, thank you for giving this a read!
> 
> stay safe & healthy,  
> love,  
> M 
> 
> title is taken from "Lion" by HU

“I am well within my rights as your older brother, Chrissy,” said George sternly. I swear, sometimes he had the demeanor of a forty-year-old with the emotional maturity of a five-year-old. It was _infuriating_. “I’m just looking out for my little sister!” 

“You are well within your own ass, George,” I shot back, feeling slightly proud of myself for the comeback. I wasn’t normally a very witty person, but with George, I hardly worried about saying the wrong thing. “For Christ’s sake, you’re only nine minutes older than I am. Who died and made you the boss?” 

“Actually,” he said, “Dad said that when they were gone, I should look out for you. As I have been, for the past seventeen years, if you remember.” 

A frustrated tear started running down my cheek. I hated that – whenever I got angry, I always cried, like some kind of a weakling. “I’m supposed to fall to my knees in gratitude or what? You’re such a dick, George. Listen, I know that you still think a lot about what happened, but it’s not gonna get any easier if you keep latching on to me like some…some leech. Just…can’t you leave me a little bit of room to breathe?” 

He exhaled sharply. “You think I’m smothering you?” He shook his head, visibly appalled by the mere _suggestion_. If I didn’t love my brother like no one else on the whole planet, I would’ve probably killed the condescending idiot by now. “After everything that happened two years ago?” 

“Oh shove off, George, this isn’t about Playgroundgate. This isn’t even about me, if you’re being honest. You just don’t want me to come to a party with you and your _cool_ friends.” I realized that I was being unfair – hell, I even kind of wanted to be unfair, I felt that I owed him that little bit of pain at this point. It wasn’t true that he saw himself and his friends as somehow superior. Probably, a very small, very rational voice in the back of my head supplied, he just really wanted to avoid me seeing him drink alcohol. That, however, was not a viable excuse for keeping me from having a social life. “Are you afraid of getting less popular when people are reminded that you’re my brother? Don’t wanna associate with the social leper, huh?” I knew that I was pushing it and being deliberately horrible, and that made me cry even harder, but I couldn’t stop at that point. 

“Chrissy,” he said, half warning and half desperate, because I knew that it pained him to no end to see me upset. “That’s really not what it’s about at all, and you know that.” 

“Then what is it about, George? Enlighten me on why you have to keep me locked up in my room, possibly making things even worse for me?” Truth be told, I didn’t even really want to go to the stupid party. I honestly couldn’t care less about drinking or partying or whatever. My goal was to get a decent enough score on my high school diploma and then hopefully move on to a good college. I wasn’t here to have the time of my life or some other shit. But still, not being granted the opportunity to say no was something different entirely. He was encroaching on my ability to make decisions and I didn’t like it one bit. 

“It’s about trying to protect you, you fury. I don’t want you near Chelsea Sterling one bit. Don’t think I’m buying your bullshit about her not recognizing you. You know that bloodhound would be able to smell you three miles away.” He tore off his snapback, ran a hand through his cropped hair and immediately put his hat back on. I swear to God, that guy was trying direly to keep people from knowing that he actually had hair. “And I also won’t buy any other lie about her apparently moving on to bigger, better things. I know that you have a class with Aron and one with Jorel in the morning and I will get them to keep an eye on things. And you’re not going to the party, that’s final. Let’s go back inside.” 

Did that…that dimwit actually believe that he could tell me _anything_ at all? I was so furious with him that I was sure a vein in my neck must’ve popped. Who the fluff did my stupid twin think he was? He had no right to tell me what to do; and I was going to make sure he knew that. 

Still, I didn’t feel like causing a scene that everyone could see and therefore we finished the rest of our lunch break in sullen silence while letting the others handle the conversation aspect of things. I was so angry that I could hardly breathe. Who the hell did George think he was, patronizing me like that? I didn’t need him to tell me what to do and how to avoid getting crap from people; I was doing fine on my own. I was going to the party, if only to annoy my brother. 

Aron smiled shyly at me, and I returned his smile. And I was going to go out with Aron, I resolved. He was a wonderful guy who obviously really liked me, and his shy attempts at flirting were charming and cute. I vowed to never let myself be gagged by brother ever again. 

“Earth to Chris,” said someone next to me. It was Dylan – I hadn’t even realized that the guy knew my name. Maybe he was less of a stoner than originally expected. “Fifth period starts in two minutes, you should probably take your goody-two-shoes ass to your next class.” 

Oh _no_. It was at this moment precisely that I remembered what my next class was: Gym. Ugh. Only psychopaths enjoyed high school gym class, and a psychopath, I was not. At least not to my knowledge. Reluctantly, I started trudging toward the class, bidding my brother’s friends (but not, rather pointedly, my brother himself) goodbye. I was still fuming, which was probably the only thing that kept me from wanting to hide under the bleachers for the next 50 minutes. 

Chelsea Stirling, of course, had already arrived in the changing room and was putting on her school-issued t-shirt and track shorts. They sat perfectly on her, and a very small part of me wanted to smack her in the face. But I wasn’t here to get in trouble – actually, my mother’s only condition on me going to school with George was that I wouldn’t do anything stupid – and so I quietly changed as well, ignoring the whispering behind me. 

I knew that Chelsea was talking about my body; probably calling me fat or something. It was nothing I hadn’t heard before, especially not from her. The girl changing next to me gave me a sympathetic look but didn’t really do anything to help me, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her. Chelsea wasn’t popular by any means, but she could make people’s lives hell because her mother was the principal and often turned a blind eye to her daughter’s antics (cliché, I know). Really, a part of me felt quite sorry for her because I was sure that people spoke as badly about her behind her back as she did about them, but after all the years we’d known each other and after everything she’d done, I couldn’t really muster up much compassion. 

“I heard that Jorel will be at Misty’s party on Friday,” said one of Chelsea’s friends suddenly, interrupting the whispering. “He’s single, you know, Chelsea?” 

Chelsea clicked her tongue, obviously pleased with herself, prompting me to roll my eyes as I dug around my bag for my gym shoes. Really, I was a little sad that Chelsea had no problems with being the living and breathing support of some misogynist argument that ‘women can’t get along’. She wasn’t stupid and she shouldn’t let her personal hatred of my person influence the way she acted, but whatever. My preaching would probably go to waste on her anyway. 

“This time I’ll finally get him,” she said. “If he’s at least half as good in bed as Aron, I’ll count it as a win.” I rolled my eyes again, although the jab did sort of sting a little bit. It wasn’t like I had a problem with Chelsea sleeping around, but the thought of Aron with her, the person who had made my life living hell for so long…that was just a little sickening. But then again, there was a good chance she’d made it up. Lord knows that the Jorel part was all made up – there was no way he was going to start something with her, I now knew for a fact that he hated Chelsea with a burning passion. 

Chelsea, obviously agitated that her jab had failed to provoke a substantial reaction from me, gave me a harsh shove, pushing my shoulder against the lockers, and stalked out of the room, chattering with her friend the whole time.

“Don’t listen to her,” said the girl next to me. “I don’t think that she and Aron ever slept together. Even if so, I’d wager that he regrets it very dearly.” She laughed a little, and I smiled back somewhat forcedly. 

“It’s none of my business,” I said and made to leave, but the girl stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. 

“I’m Misty,” she introduced herself, “and just ignore Chelsea. She thinks she runs this school, but she forgets that the real world isn’t like Mean Girls and there’s no ‘queen bee’ in high school.” She shot me a reassuring smile. 

“Chris,” I replied simply, but she already seemed to know that. 

“George Ragan’s twin sister,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“What gave me away?” I asked dryly. 

“The fact that he and his crew basically issued a _do not touch_ rule when it comes to you. When it became clear that you were gonna come here this semester, he basically threatened people not to bother you. Capital punishment included and all.” She said the words in a joking tone, but something told me that they weren’t really meant to be laughed at. 

I gulped at the ball of rage in the back of my throat. “Of course he did.” 

She snickered at that, looking at me with an amused glint in her eyes. “There’s the family resemblance,” she stated. “You and George both seem…a little temperamental, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

The words struck a nerve inside me that, under no circumstances, she could’ve been aiming for. This was just an unlucky hit, but still – pain flared up inside me sharply. “We weren’t always,” I said, fully aware of how cryptic I sounded. Misty, however, knew not to pry and left me alone for the rest of gym class. 

The same could not be said for Chelsea and her gang. They teased me relentlessly – for my form when playing volleyball, for the fact that I didn’t really need a bra because my breasts were so small, for the fact that I tripped over my untied laces at some point, faceplanting somewhat gracelessly. Normally, I was quite sporty and enjoyed going out and running (courtesy of growing up with a nine-minutes-older brother whose friends liked to tease me and chase me around until George told them to knock it off). Today, though, I couldn’t do anything right, and I suddenly felt like a podgy thirteen-year-old again, running away from Chelsea’s friends who were always aiming at me with their spitballs. The regression was so sudden and so painful that I almost wanted to scream. I felt young, insecure and ridiculous – nothing like the person I prided myself on being nowadays. 

After gym class, I felt thoroughly humiliated and felt compelled to skip the shower, but I knew that would only cause another deluge of relentless teasing and therefore, I quickly washed myself off, dashing back into the locker room to change back into my clothes before anyone had even finished soaping themselves up. 

My last period of the day was the only ray of light in this darkness: Music class, with none other than my brother, Jorel and Jordon. I was quite happy to be spending time with them and happily plopped down in a seat next to George. Then I remembered that I was still furious with him and hopped back up as though something had stung me, immediately stomping over to the desk to Jorel’s left. Jorel, the mean jerk, had the nerve to look amused. Jordon simply rolled his eyes. 

George looked like he wanted to say something but seemed to think better of it when he saw the scathing glare that I cast his way.

“You know you’re being childish, right?” whispered Jorel self-righteously and I suppressed the urge to wring his neck like he was a Christmas goose. 

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Decker,” I snapped at him, and the prick just laughed at me. Ugh. 

“It’s the truth, Chrissy.” 

“Up yours, _J-Dog_.” 

I could practically hear him rolling his eyes, but then the teacher, Mr. Stump, cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to talk over the ruckus in the classroom. Eventually, when the chatter had died down, he could carry on speaking to us about his semester plan, going over the syllabus slowly and thoroughly. That gave me plenty of time to sulk some more and ready myself to do some more sulking on our way home.


End file.
